Porcelain
by KissMeHardyA113
Summary: Set after "Monkey Island 2: LeChuck's Revenge", this story documents Guybrush Threepwood's stay at Big Whoop.


This is my first Monkey Island story. I'm sure that a ton of similar stories have been written, but -strangely enough- I've never come across one. Any resemblance to other fanfics is not intentional. So, have a go at my attempt to describe Guybrush's time at Big Whoop, and direct me to a better story if you find that you hate mine.

_Disclaimer: _It feels weird to write that the Monkey Island franchise belongs to Disney...

* * *

"I want a corn dog!" the blonde haired boy declared. Instead, he got a shove from his older brother. "Stop it, Chuckie!" the younger, smaller boy cried and threatened with a feeble fist that left his brother unfazed.

"Boys!" their father warned. "Behave yourselves."

"Yes, sir," the brothers said in half-hearted unison.

"Now, what was it you wanted, Guybrush?" their mother asked, pinning a loose strand of hair into her blonde bun with her shaking, aged fingers.

"I want a corn dog!" Guybrush repeated in a whiny voice. He looked at his mother's stern face and then, pretending to be humbled, looked at her shiny high-heeled boots, perfectly aware of what he was doing to her heartstrings.

The mother, softened by her favored child's ruse, looked around the desolate amusement park and spotted the food-stand that had captured her son's attention between the Ferris wheel and a cotton candy cart.

"Well, all right," she said after she had received an approving nod from her husband. "But you'll have to wash your hands first," she continued, pointing to the nearest restroom with her bony hand. "And don't touch anything!"

Guybrush gave her a questioning look and soon received clarification: "Other than the sink and soap, of course!"

The little boy thanked both parents and headed giddily for the restrooms. When he'd reached the door of the lavatory, he turned around to look smugly at his brother who, due to his troublemaker nature, was currently being denied the luxury of a sausage in fried batter. Chuckie seemed to sense Guybrush's gaze and returned it with a malevolent twist.

Guybrush held his breath and quickly shut the restroom door behind him, letting a shudder run through him as he did. With the sight of his brother's glare efficiently blocked, he went on to wash his hands, all the while wondering how he could possibly be related to the creepy pre-teen.

Heeding his mother's words, the boy used a paper towel to turn the slimy doorknob of the lavatory, certain that a maternal pat on the head and a corn dog lay ahead of him.

What he saw instead when he opened the door was very far from what he'd expected.

( O .. O )

'^^'

"Please stop!" Guybrush begged, thrashing and pulling at the chains that bound him to the wooden frame of the torture rack.

"Shut yer gab, Seepgood, and heed me!" the zombie pirate LeChuck snapped. "It be very interesting if ye give it a chance!"

"No! I won't listen to one more word!" his captive insisted.

LeChuck shot him an angry glance and cleared his throat ceremoniously. "As I was saying," he continued, "porcelain differs from clay in that-"

"La la la la la-not listening!" shouted the headstrong young pirate over his archenemy's presentation. "La la la—umph!" Guybrush grunted as his lips were sealed after a snap of LeChuck's fingers.

"That be much better," the stinky green lump of a pirate declared. "Now, as I've been telling ye, clay be a mere ingredient in the making of porcelain..."

Guybrush tried to scream, but LeChuck had already thought to paralyze his vocal chords.

( O .. O )

'^^'

"Concentrate, Guybrush!" the young pirate whispered to himself. He was huddled in a dirty corner of what seemed like the alley where he'd first met Fester Shinetop back on Melee Island. He knew that he had little time to himself until LeChuck caught up with him.

In his hands he held a crumpled piece of paper: the circus poster that had adorned the side of the church for longer than anyone seemed to care. The poster was the only thing he owned apart from the clothes on his back; he'd found his pockets empty a while ago, the odds and ends he had stored in his pants used up or lost—he couldn't remember which. He couldn't remember much at all, only little snippets of his life—if it had actually been his life and not another dream—: adventures revolving around carved monkey heads, journeys to uncharted islands and disturbing voodoo recipes.

He couldn't remember much else, but was positive that his memory would return if he could only escape. _Escape from where?_ he asked himself. He no idea of where he was. All that he knew was that every door led to a different place, sometimes familiar, sometimes not, but almost always scary as hell.

If he hadn't been such a mighty pirate he would have found it easy to give up. But as it was, he couldn't let that happen. Too much was at stake—what would Elaine do without him? LeChuck would force the poor girl to marry him and it would all be Guybrush's own fault for not being there to save her.

He pondered as such for some minutes, until he noticed that the barrels that lay beside him started to evaporate, their matter leaving them in wisps of colour. Guybrush realized that his brief spell of relative consciousness was coming to an end, and he had to move fast if he wanted to avoid yet another confrontation. He got up and hurried through the single door behind him.

The sheriff was a bit too late this time and arrived at the alley to find it empty.

( O . . O )

'^^'

Water. It was everywhere.

Guybrush had only a vague idea of where he was; somewhere underwater, his feet digging into the soft sand, some kelp nearby swinging with the current. However, the situation felt eerily familiar: a rope was tied to his leg, keeping him in place, a couple of fish were swimming around him—seemingly unafraid of his close proximity—, and scattered in the sand just out of his reach lay an array of sharp objects— almost obscenely sharp. In the back of his mind a tiny voice was counting down his ten minutes of oxygen. Been there, done that.

He was pretty sure that the solution had something to do with a certain artifact he couldn't locate at the moment. He tried to untie his leg, but to no avail; his fingers were stiff and clumsy. He yanked at the rope to see where it led, but to his surprise it was leading nowhere he could see, for his feet were no longer safely anchored in the sand, but floating above deep, dark waters.

The aspiring pirate decided to follow the line to which he was bound for reasons that he could not quite determine. He'd found that following his hunches usually proved far more successful than weighing his options logically. He started swimming toward the bottom of the sea, even though he was sure he could never reach it. He swam deeper and deeper until he could hardly see anything. And then, paradoxically, he spotted some light at the edge of his field of vision. While swimming towards it, it became clear that it was emanating from a shipwreck, a shipwreck loaded with so much gold that it shone yellow against the black ocean depths. Guybrush's piratey instincts had his heart racing over the discovery. He swam fervently to the treasure laden ship, eager to grab some booty.

When he reached the sunken ship, he realized that the rope was no longer around his leg. He didn't give much thought to it, as he was wont to do of late, what with everything that was happening.

While on the rotting deck he pocketed just a couple of gold coins and opened the rickety door of the captain's quarters, hoping that a quick look at the captain's log would provide him with a clue. Stepping into the room he found it dark and opened the door wide to let in as much light as possible. He could make out the furniture now; several chests of drawers, a bed and a desk, none of which have succumbed to the decomposition that plagued the rest of the ship. They were of a pale ivory colour and, if it weren't for the sea-life that had developed on them, they could pass as brand new.

He approached the desk, hoping to find the late captain's journal there. He placed a hand on the single drawer's handle and felt a tingle as he did. It was smooth and cold and reminiscent of something he could not quite place. Unnerved, he withdrew his hand and waited for a while before trying again. The second time was worse: touching the pale desk made him shudder in anguish and he was out the door before he knew it. He started swimming upward, thrashing toward the surface.

After lots of frantic swimming, Guybrush started feeling dizzy, his mind going numb. He estimated that he only had about a minute of oxygen left and started fearing that he wouldn't make it on time.

He found himself approaching the surface much sooner than he'd expected, his retinas welcoming the dim sunlight. He was just a couple of feet below the surface when he felt a violent yank on his coat as a strong arm fished him out.

He opened his eyes back in LeChuck's torture chamber, fresh out of a water tank, drenched to the bone and panting.

"Had enough, Peepwood?" the zombie pirate asked grabbing hold of Guybrush's dripping-wet shirt collar.

( O .. O )

'^^'

Guybrush Threepwood, mighty pirate, had finally figured out how to escape what he referred to as Big Whoop. It hadn't been easy, what with coherent thought rarely being able to form in his mind since it all began. It had taken him what he estimated to be a very long time and lots of brainstorming, but he had managed to prepare a vague plan that was almost ready to be put to the test. All he had to do was find the amusement park grounds to set it up.

Presently, he was going from door to door, seeking the one that would open to the abandoned amusement park. It's always in the last place you look; he'd found the door to the clown cemetery, the yak lip restoration center, the corridor to the monkey psychiatric wing: all places he had no intention on visiting again.

He finally found the park while he was exploring a tunnel he'd found at the bottom of a canyon. The tunnel led behind the tackily decorated wiener shop. Guybrush wasted no time: he popped inside the shop to salvage a couple of hardened hot-dog buns and headed straight for the bumper cars.

He reached the bumper car floor and found several run-down vehicles. From where he was standing— and probably from every other point of view—it was obvious that they were not seaworthy. The gears turned in Guybrush's mind and soon he'd found a solution.

He set about taking apart one of the bumper cars. He had no need for the engine and he hoped that removing it would help keep the vessel afloat. After having gone through the upholstery he found the metal door to the engine. It was screwed shut; it seemed like the screwdriver he'd picked up some time ago would come in handy. He took it out of his pocket and proceeded to work on the screws. It soon became obvious that unscrewing the little door was impossible: the screws were incompatible with his tool.

He ran a hand through his hair, scratching his scalp a bit, for good measure, and giving his brain time to process the problem. Inspiration struck him like lightning, making him run for the hot-dog shop and dip one of the hardened buns he'd collected into a pan of used filthy frying oil. The bun absorbed the thick liquid like a sponge and enabled him to carry the oil back to the bumper car. After having oiled the screws thoroughly, he raised his pinky (which had grown an extremely long fingernail during his time in Big Whoop) and stuck it into the slot of a screw. It worked like a charm.

Having exposed the engine, he unceremoniously ripped it out of the body of the vehicle and set it aside. He eyed the dissected bumper car and decided it was not yet light enough.

Thinking quickly, he set out to fetch some helium balloons.

( O . . O )

'^^'

It had been very long since he'd last felt the spray of the sea. The droplets landing on his face, their undeniable coolness and salty smell, assured him that this was no dream. He had actually escaped.

The bumper car had luckily proved seaworthy with its bumper full of helium and, although the waters surrounding Dinky Island would be difficult to navigate through even if his vessel hadn't been ungovernable, Guybrush was certain of his safe passage and confident that he wasn't very far from yet another adventure and triumph.

* * *

_ Hmm... What about this baby, huh?_

_ What did YOU think of it?_

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_ Answer the above questions _—_and give your opinion on many more topics of your choice_—_ in your REVIEWS, for a chance to win... one FAB-ulous Big Whoop refrigerator magnet, courtesy of Stan!_


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